


moments in time

by Magali_Dragon



Series: one shots and other drabbles [28]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Olenna Tyrell, Ballet, Burlesque, Deaf, Deaf!Jon, Drabble, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff, Former Escort!Jon, Funeral Home Meet Cute, Light Bondage, Madam!Dany, Neighbors, Nosy Neighbors, Service Dogs, ServiceDog!Ghost, Sexy Times, Sign Language, Soulmates, Surfing, Tumblr Prompt, Vampires, Vet!Dany, Veterinary Medicine, Were-Creatures, comfort prompts from tumblr, just a lot of tags so read author notes before, morticians!Jonerys, surfer!jonerys, vampire queen Dany and her wolf jon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:01:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 19,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25992568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magali_Dragon/pseuds/Magali_Dragon
Summary: Collection of Jonerys drabbles originally posted on Tumblr for various writing prompts. For the first five, they address "comfort" prompts and all but one are set in previously established universes from my fics and will be noted.Maybe there will be more to come, depends on how many I end up answering!Since I'm not sure how many will be added to this (like as long as I keep doing drabbles I guess, ha) I won't be updating the tags-- so check the notes before each chapter!  I'm not responsible if I write something that offends your sensibilities and you didn't read the warnings first.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Series: one shots and other drabbles [28]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1567705
Comments: 358
Kudos: 641





	1. pirouettes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not long after beginning to date Dany meets Jon’s mom: her idol prima ballerina Lyanna Stark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first drabble is set in the **it is what it is** universe.
> 
> Answers the “I trust you” prompt, rated G, and is all fluff but answers some questions some had from the first fic.
> 
> Written for **AenarSnow** who requested the prompt!

“I still can’t believe how you can just…” Jon trailed off, his gray eyes shining with awe and pride, unable to complete his thought. He wiggled his finger in a circle in a crude attempt to mimic what she’d just done on her toes, a complicated sequence from the upcoming show. 

They would leave soon for Kingsland, for the final practices before the show, but first she had to perform for the headmistress, the director, the prima ballerina, the Queen in the North herself. 

_Lyanna Stark._

She felt sick to her stomach; it wasn’t just performing for the woman she’d idolized and for whom she had moved all the way here from her nice warm Crownslands home and the perfectly good dance conservatory down south. It was also her boyfriend’s _mother._ There was a distinct terror element to the meeting, one which Dany knew would occur _before_ the actual performance itself, but one which she still felt more pressure to succeed in than the dance solo. 

The news that Jon’s mother was actually her idol had thrown her for a loop. She thought he was joking. She didn’t know why it never occurred to her. Lyanna Stark was a rare sight in Winterfell, almost never seen in the Academy or even on the streets. She was a shadow, a wolf hugging the edges, and that alone should have indicated to Dany that Jon was his mother’s son. He had hidden in plain sight for weeks after that damn party after all! He had said something about maybe having dinner with his mom, when she was done with class, a few days prior. 

“She’s working late tonight, perhaps tomorrow?” He had been so adorably nervous, shifting on his feet. They were officially _dating_ , had been for a few weeks, and he was already moving on to meeting the parents. Well, parent. Dany knew that his father was a non-entity, his mother never spoke of him. 

“Sounds wonderful, I cannot wait to meet her. Should I bring something?”

“Just yourself. Besides, you’ve already met her, haven’t you? For your interview for the Academy?” he had been so shy about it. 

“What do you mean?” She had laughed, swinging his hand in hers as they walked down the chilly sidewalk together. It didn’t make sense. The only woman she had met for her interview for the school was….her stomach dropped into her feet. “Oh gods, Jon no…”

Tonight was the night. Dany needed to exercise her nerves, hence her return to the studio, with an audience no less. She hummed nervously, hands on her hips. She bent her knees, and began to bounce in place, feet alternating with every jump and bounce. Her hands lifted, arms elegantly draping over her head, eyes fluttering shut as she danced. “That looks dizzying,” Jon observed.

“Not really.”

“Not even when you turn again and again?”

She laughed, enacting a pirouette, and then propped up onto her toes, stepping towards him, her hand offering out to his, violet eyes teasing. “Come on you, let’s see if you’ve got it in you.”

“Oh I don’t think so.”

“Jon come on; do you trust me?”

He laughed, taking her hand and allowing her to help him up from his seat on the piano bench. “I trust you.” He let her move his arms into the position she wanted, taking his hands in hers. He met her gaze with his, serious once more. His voice dropped, quiet. “Do you trust me? About my mom? She’s going to love you. I promise.”

She knew he knew how important this was to her, how it wasn’t just Lyanna Stark, her boyfriend’s mother, but her idol, her headmistress, and the woman who could help make or break her career as a ballerina. Dany nodded, smile gentle, trusting. “I trust you,” she echoed. She leaned in to brush her lips to his, whispering. “Now, let’s dance, huh?”

“You’re getting my son to dance? Well I do love you already.”

The cool, Northern burr boomed in the studio, despite the low volume of the speaker. Dany jumped back from Jon so fast she almost tripped in her pointe shoes, letting go of him instantly. He grabbed her hand again, not allowing her to break away entirely, and grinned at the woman in the doorway, face lighting up happily. “Mum!”

Lyanna Stark stood in the doorway, smiling enigmatically at her. She was in a simple outfit of leggings, long tunic, and boots. Her dark hair, the same raven curls as Jon, was tugged into a knot at the base of her head. She eyed Dany’s pointe shoes. “I think if you can get my son into dance shoes I will have to advocate for your marriage. I don’t think I have ever gotten him into a studio, even when he was a babe. He preferred hockey to dancing.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah and you still made me learn to dance.”

“And you were the top goal scorer, were you not?” She grinned, holding her arms out. “Come give your mother a kiss.”

“Mum!”

Dany giggled, in spite of herself, letting go of him. She watched him trudge, embarrassed, to his mother, and accept the smacking kiss the woman left on his face. She crossed her arms nervously over her chest. “Ms. Stark,” she greeted, almost curtseying, like this was a bloody queen. In a way she certainly was. She nibbled her lower lip, a nervous tic, unprepared. She wondered how much Lyanna had seen, if she’d seen her dancing already or if she’d just seen her kissing her son. 

Jon told her to trust him, and she did. She trusted him implicitly. Lyanna scanned her, the same cool gaze as her son, and her lips broke into a smile. “Call me Lyanna. Your form is beautiful.”

Well, Dany thought she could die happy right then and there. She flushed, tugging at her red tulle skirt over her black leotard. “Thank you, so much…” she stumbled through her words. “If I could be half the dancer you were…”

Lyanna grinned, her arm around her son, who was smiling proudly at Dany. “Don’t kid yourself, you’re a better dancer than she ever was,” Jon said. 

_Oh gods!_ Dany groaned, mortified, smacking her hands to her face. Lyanna roared laughing. “Oh my Jon, you do love her, don’t you?”

_Love!?_

Lyanna let go of Jon, who now was a mortified as Dany. She kissed his cheek again and patted his chest. “I’ll see you for dinner tonight sweetling. Daenerys, lovely to meet you, I’ll see you tonight.” She smirked at Jon, wiggling her fingers in an almost diabolical wave. “Bye, bye.”

They stood in the dance studio, both of their cheeks flaming red, shifting awkwardly on their feet. Jon’s boot soles creaked on the hardwood and Dany’s toe shoes clomped loudly. She cleared her throat, still hugging her arms around herself. “Uh…so…trust you huh?”

He closed his eyes, sighing. “Yeah well, she likes you, otherwise she wouldn’t have embarrassed me.”

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” She turned pink, stepping to him at the same time he stepped to her. She plucked a stray speck of dust from his black t-shirt. “Um, so…do you?”

“Do I what?”

Dany giggled, rolling her eyes. “Love me.”

“Oh yeah, um…” He smiled, weakly. “Yes?”

“Is it a question?”

“I don’t know, is it?” He blinked at her. “Do you love me?”

Now it was her turn to flush darker. She nodded her head quickly. “Yes,” she mumbled. 

Jon looked relieved. He embraced her, spinning her around after they shared a long kiss, giggling against each other the entire time. “Oh, thank gods. I love you too.”

Oddly enough, Dany thought, spinning in a circle with him, feet lifted clear off the floor as they kissed, she didn’t feel nervous at all about dinner with his mother that night. It wasn’t meeting his famous mother that had her terrified, she realized. It was trusting herself to realize that what was between them was something as real as it was. She squeezed his hand under the dinner table, grateful once more for coming North to study.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Drabble: We return to the cul de sac with Olenna and Davos from **the rose next door**!


	2. rain showers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olenna is stealing water and gets some news from the newlywed neighbors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we return to the cul-de-sac with Olenna and Davos from **the rose next door** universe!
> 
> This prompt is “Come take a shower with me” and was requested by **canyoudrownme**. It’s a little out there but I hope I made it work!

The roses were suffering in the heat, it was absolutely unbearable. Olenna would make a pact with the gods to save them if she actually believed in any of the gods. The Mother, Maiden, Crone, ha! She snorted at the thought of any of those old biddies coming to help her with her beloved rose bushes. Then there was what, the Stranger, the Warrior, the Smith, and the Father. None of those dicks would care about her roses. She sniffed at one of the drooping buds, sighing. 

“I sometimes think you love those things more than you love your own children.”

She glared over her shoulder at Davos, who had invited himself into her backyard again. It was one thing for her to do it, it was another for others to do it to her. Didn’t they realized that that was how the world worked? She snorted. “Well if you had my sons, you’d love roses more too. What do you want?”

“I thought with the heat being as bad as it has been lately, you might need another sprinkler hookup. Since all my grass is dead, I don’t need it.” Davos sighed, disappointed and gazing around at her relatively lush green grass. “I see you’ve been ignoring the city’s water ban.”

“I pay for water; I’m going to get water.”

“And my grass is dead, thank you.”

“That’s because you follow the rules.” She plucked the sprinkler hookup from his hands, sniffing at him. He wasn’t just in her yard out of the kindness of his heart. Maybe he was, one could never tell with Davos. Sometimes he actually did things because he was nice. Olenna didn’t quite get that. “Why else are you here?”

“Maybe I wanted to check and make sure you weren’t passed out on your floor.”

“If I was, this neighborhood will throw a party.” Olenna did not miss the fact that Davos didn’t necessarily disagree with her there. He followed her up onto her back porch, where she had a few fans blowing in the corners, an iced tea pitcher sweating on the table. “Would you like a glass?” 

“Thank you.” He took the glass from her in his good hand, the one with all the fingers, and eyed the yard to the left of her property. “So how are the newlyweds doing?”

“Fucking like rabbits.”

He spit out his sip of tea, coughing. “Olenna!”

Olenna frowned at him. “What? What do you think newlyweds do all damn day? Your honeymoon must have been bloody boring.” He didn’t answer that comment either, just wiped his beard with the back of his hand, glaring at her. She squinted at the backyard. There was movement in the house, the door opening. She smirked. “Hello Jon!”

The handsome young man who had until a few months ago lived opposite her on the right waved. He had moved into Dany’s house, since it was bigger, and the yard was also larger. Olenna had already run off two prospective buyers of his house. One was a husband and wife who were so boring looking she couldn’t stand the sight of them, even if they were Baratheons. Then there was the Dornish couple, who looked like they planned to have orgies every single night, hinted at it even, and Olenna would not abide by that.

She hopped off the porch, going over to the hose and turning it on, even as Davos muttered about how she was blatantly breaking the mandated city rules on water, and sprayed out some towards the other yard. “How is Daenerys?” she asked, half-tempted to ask if the young woman could still walk.

Jon’s smile exploded over his face. “Wonderful, we ah, have some news.” He looked mighty pleased with himself. “We’re having a baby.”

“Oh wonderful news!” Davos exclaimed, hurrying over to the fence to give Jon one of the awkward one-armed man hugs that Olenna couldn’t understand. He beamed. “How is she doing? I’m sure Marya will be able to answer any questions she has, seven sons we’ve had.”

“And all you men do is have fun for a few minutes in the beginning, we women do all the work,” Olenna said. She always loved how men were so excited about becoming fathers, like they were the ones who were going to grow a human being in their body for nine months then push the watermelon sized creation out of an opening the size of a bagel hole. She smirked at Jon, who turned pink at the reference to sexual intercourse being how one created a baby. He was such a maid, honestly. “So how is she doing?”

“Jon?” a voice called out from the house. Dany appeared in the doorway, wearing a long denim shirt over a pair of yellow shorts. She smiled politely at them. “Hello Olenna, Davos.” She frowned. “Olenna, are we allowed to turn on our water yet? I didn’t think we were.”

“Oh well the roses needed a shower,” she said, spraying towards the dying bushes. She smirked. “Where’s that wolf of yours? I think he could use one too.”

“He’s hiding,” Dany answered, before Jon could. She glanced at Jon and nodded to the house. “Come on, get in here. I’m hot and my back hurts. If the roses can get a shower, then so can I. Come take a shower with me. “

Jon sputtered, cheeks darkening even redder from embarrassment. Davos looked embarrassed on behalf of them. Olenna smirked. “Dany, I don’t think…”

The other woman pouted, stomping her foot. “Jon Snow!” It was then that Olenna could see her belly poking out a bit on her waist. If she was beginning her second trimester, then yes, she was going to be a bit amorous. 

She chuckled, turning the hose to Jon, spraying at his feet. “You better get to work Jon Snow.”

Dany cackled. “Good one Olenna! Get in here Snow!”

Jon sulked, trudging up towards the house, but once Dany popped her palm on that fine arse of his, he snagged her around the waist, dragging her into the house where she giggled and waved at them, letting the door slam shut behind her. 

Olenna was pleased and turned to the wolf dog that had just wiggled out from under the porch, dirt on his fluffy white fur, most of which had been shaved off for the heat, she suspected. She spritzed him with the hose. He shook off the water and lolled his tongue at her, red eyes happy. “You want one too? Come on then.” He darted to the fence and leaped over it, beginning to dance in the spray. She glanced sideways at Davos. “What’s your problem?”

He sighed and shook his head. “I think you’re rubbing off on her.”

“Oh, because she just asked for what she wanted and grabbed it by the short and curlies? That’s called marriage Davos.” She turned and spritzed the hose on his feet, causing him to dark backwards, scowling at her. She grinned. “If Dany becomes me on this block, she’ll have learned from a good teacher. Now, either help me install that sprinkler thing or be on your way.” She cocked her head to the house. “They’re going to be awhile. That Jon Snow sure can go.”

Davos groaned, smacking his palms to his face, while Olenna hummed under her breath, wondering if she could somehow siphon off his water supply for her roses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next drabble: We return to canon times with Khal Jon and Queen Dany for a missing scene from **when the sun sets in the east**!


	3. kiss it better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After they return from Vaes Dothraki and finally overthrow the Masters, Dany and her Northern Khal relax while he tends to her injury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place during **when the sun sets in the east** after Dany burns the Khals and returns to Meereen. 
> 
> It is one of two others for **AenarSnow** I wrote, this is the only “canon” set one. 
> 
> It is for the prompt “Will a kiss help?”

"I thought he was supposed to be a decent advisor." Jon never commented much on Daenerys's choice in her advisors—she was the Queen; she could learn from any mistake she made in counsel— save for his clear distaste for keeping Daario Naharis around. The Second Sons, unfortunately answered to him, hence his sole reason for maintaining residence in the pyramid. 

Their return to Meereen, greeted with an assault on the pyramid, the full-blown rebellion of the Masters and the Sons of the Harpy, and numerous attempts on Dany's life, did not bode well for Tyrion Lannister's future as a trusted counselor. It seemed his queen agreed, for her arched eyebrow smirk at the Lannister upon her return had been met with him quaking in his boots, wondering if she would throw him to the wolves. OR wolf, rather. Jon wouldn't mind taking the life of a Lannister. It didn’t seem anyone in Westeros would miss the little lion anyway.

He kicked at a chunk of plaster that had fallen from the wall, from one of the various attacks on the pyramid. It still stood, furniture in disarray, a testament to the Old Ghiscari construction. He paused in the entryway to the bed chamber, frowning at the mattress, in shambles and the linens torn and scattered to the floor. He sighed, moving towards it, figuring it best to right sooner rather than later.

In the main meeting area, Dany righted a chair. In her Dothraki leathers, she reminded him of the woman he’d met in Vaes Dothrak, what felt like a decade ago, but was really only a couple years. She was powerful, his beautiful queen, and the way she’d handled the Masters, burned their ships, and her three sons raining destruction down on those that sought to take what she’d worked for from her. He felt desire stir within him, his eyes darkening and his blood pulsing, the wolf at bay coming to life again. 

She called out. “With respect to Tyrion, I did not leave him with much. Although yes, I do not quite understand how he suspected his plan would go. Thank gods Barristan was here to right what he could.” She hissed in pain, when she pushed a chair back into place, reaching back to her shoulder, wincing.

In an instant, he was there, his fingers carefully pulling at the leathers and rough fabric of her Dothraki dress, his lip curling angrily at the sight of the healing wound on her back, from the Dothraki whip. It crossed diagonally across her fair skin, angry red welts, the skin puckered and raw. She tugged away from him, going into the adjoining bathing chamber, which Missandei and some other handmaidens had already attended to, the water steaming. 

He joined her, shedding his leathers, sensing Ghost’s presence beyond the pyramid, hunting with his newfound companions, the newly freed Rhaegal and Viserion following overhead while he hunted in the tall grasses nearby. He was glad; Ghost would give them some privacy for a bit. She removed her clothing in a puddle at her feet, walking easily into the water as though it were a tepid pond. “Do they put hot coals in here?” he wondered.

“It boils for hours before they fill the tub.”

“You should get Drogon to heat the water, will go faster.”

She arched a brow, grinning at him. “I may do so.” As she lowered herself entirely into the water, she cried out, reaching back to the wound, craning her neck to try to see it. The water burned his skin as he lowered himself in, but he focused on her, pulling her into his arms to inspect it again. She sighed. “There’s nothing you can do; it will just have to heal on its own.”

“Will a kiss help?”

A silver eyebrow arched, her lips curling to a smile. She nodded, violet eyes shining. “Couldn’t hurt.”

He smiled into her shoulder, brushing a kiss to the nape of her neck. He swam her to the side of the tub, the deep and sunken marble bath perfect for the two of them. The water sloshed at their waists when he lifted her up carefully, guiding her hands to the rim. He reached over and pulled a dragon pin from the little tray of oils, soaps, and other scented items Missandei left for her. Coiling her braids in one hand, he pinned them up, giving him unfettered access to her neck and her shoulders, raining kisses on each bit of exposed skin. 

She drew in a sharp breath as he ran his tongue lightly down the diagonal path of broken skin. He followed it with his touch, featherlight, gentle and soothing. He moved up and down it, until she was whimpering, begging for more. The water had cooled to tolerable for him, turning her skin rosy and warm. He wrapped her up in his arms and held her close, sliding easily into her, over and over again, both of them ready and needy. 

Battles always had this effect on them, he thought idly, as she reached back to clutch at his neck, holding his mouth against her shoulder, anchored to her as he moved inside of her. She cried out, not long after, and he followed immediately. 

They relaxed against the side of the tub, until he turned her, taking her mouth with his. She sighed against him, whispering. “I feel better now.”

His chuckle rumbled through his chest. “You’ll feel better after we actually get clean.”

She laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Khal Verro, you are a tease. Bringing me here for ulterior motives.”

“It worked, did it not?”

“Yes, it did.” She kissed him lightly once more. He dragged a fingertip over the abused skin, her eyes fluttering shut, brow flickering in pain. 

Some of the salves and oils were in languages he didn’t understand, but Jon found the one he wanted, after they finished cleaning each other and climbed from the bath. She lay on her stomach and he stretched beside her, slowly and carefully rubbing the lavender into her wound, to fend off the ache and soothe the skin. 

When he finished tending to the injury, he kissed it again and smiled. “Feel better?”

“Hmm, yes.” She smiled back at him. “A kiss did make it all better.”

He touched his lips to hers again. “I don’t know about my kisses, but yours certainly do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next drabble: We turn up the spice for NorthernLights37 with a sexy piece starring Madam Dany and her COO Lover/former escort Jon as he...performs for her. 😉


	4. just dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany is ending her long day when Jon decides to liven up her evening with a bit of a show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My brain twin, my #1 bitch, my supplier of Asshole!Jonerys NorthernLights37 thought she could challenge me to the prompt "I trust you" and since Aenar got the sweet side of that prompt, she gets the spice. Because CHALLENGE ACCEPTED.
> 
> I welcome you back to Madam Daenerys and her Chief Operating Officer, lover, and former escort Jon Snow in the universe **ice is hot too**.
> 
> Oh and ah-hem, this falls on the very 'hard M' side of things if not downright explicit. You're warned.

So much of Dany’s life consisted of dealing with terrible things that happened to good people. She was doing her very best to limit those terrible things through her other endeavors, namely her Red Door Initiative. Thank the gods for Jon in helping her with that one. Thank the gods for Jon, honestly, she thought, standing in her office, holding her whiskey in her fingertips, the cool crystal glass pressed to her forehead, staving off the headache she felt forming behind her eyes. 

The terrible things were offset by some rather mundane, irritating aspects of running her empire. There was the burlesque club, but Missandei had all but taken over the day-to-day responsibilities of that. Liquor licenses, ordering, the contracts for the dancers, and dealing with Stannis Baratheon’s puritanical wife and her quest to eliminate the entire sex industry. _Gods that woman needs to get fucking laid_ , Dany thought to herself, staring down at the empty club. 

Their last patron had gone home, the bartenders divvied up the tips and left, and the waitresses and dancers on their way out, waving goodbye to each other and up to the mirrors along the top of the club, where they knew she watched. She smirked, sipping her whiskey, and watched out of the corner of her eye as the last person left, their shadow fading into blackness. She sighed and gazed at the empty stage. The lights were out, just a few dim ones on in the back, giving the club an eerie, ghostly appearance. She checked her watch. It was almost two in the morning. She had a few things to do, mostly related to scheduling—curse Robb Stark to the seven hells honestly—before she called Rakharo to pick her up and take her home.

Dany turned away from the glass and moved to pull her chair out, to start looking at the escort schedules, when she blinked hard, a spotlight shining from the stage into her office. _What the fuck?_ She turned and gazed out, seeing the light land on the stage. She frowned and went to her desk, opening up her drawer to remove her gun, kept only for emergencies. She was supposed to be the only one left in the club. 

“Oh Daenerys.”

The voice was sing-song, burred and teasing. She froze, halfway to the door. On her heel, she rotated, staring to the glass. Her eyes narrowed. She paused, waiting. The voice called out again. “I was thinking, you’ve been working so late. Working so hard. You might need something to, ah…cheer you up. So why don’t you come down here, hm?”

She hid her smile. “You son of a bitch,” she murmured, walking over to the window and gazing out again. 

He was down there, on the stage, sitting in a chair, leg propped up over his knee, and wearing black slacks and a black blazer, but she could tell there was nothing underneath. Just a tie loose around his neck and his feet were bare. His dark curls tousled. He had a microphone in his hand. He lifted it to his lips, speaking again, voice magnified once more in the silent club. “Don’t make me ask again.”

 _You are not in charge._. Dany took her sweet time, sauntering down the stairs and into the club, over to where a chair was waiting for her in front of the stage. She crossed her arms over her chest. “What is this? Ladies’ night?”

“Something like that. Get up here.”

“You’re not the boss of me.”

He cocked his head. “No, I’m not. But humor me.” 

Dany squinted. He never gave up his control this easy. She humored him, like he asked, and went up onto the stage. Her fingers played along the warm skin of his chest, sliding underneath the lapels of the designer suit jacket. She drifted them down over his rippling abs, to his belt buckle, and began to slide it free, when he stilled her. She frowned. “I thought this was a game?”

“Hmm, it is. Trust me, hm?”

She smiled into his temple, her tongue darting to trace the shell of his ear. “I trust you.” She trusted no one, only him. She slid around and moved to his lap, but he was too fast for her and was off the chair the instant she slammed her arse into it, surprised. She turned, her heated gaze following him. 

He popped the button on the jacket and grinned. “Lose yours.”

Dany did as he bid, losing her suit jacket. She ignored his command to sit down, when she stood, but she didn’t care, and dropped her pants, leaving her in her stilettos and her black thong. She’d taken her bra off earlier; that thing was so constricting; it was truly the end of her day when it came off. She reached a hand to palm her tit, her other going down to the scrap of lace between her legs. “Now what?” she asked.

“Sit back down. I told you, I have a little surprise for you.” He was still holding his jacket closed. 

She wanted to know what he had planned, so she sat down, crossing her legs primly. He walked back around in front of her and then let go, flinging the jacket apart and off his body, tossing it aside. She burst into laughter, peals of it. It shook her from the top of her head down to her toes, and she almost slid off the chair. It felt so _good_ , her entire body relaxing at the sight in front of her.

Jon grinned, hands on his hips. He could be so serious, but then sometimes he was such a bloody _idiot._. “You like?” he asked. 

“Oh my gods!”

Over his nipples he’d placed two pasties, black sparkling ones with a dragon popping out at her. He also had glitter on. He unbuckled his belt and then the pants were gone, his briefs black and glittering as well, with red dragons printed over them, sparkling. He laughed, unable to contain himself. He gestured down to his cock, already hard and ready. “See anything you like?”

“You’re a bloody wanker.”

He laughed, taking the tie off his neck. He pulled it taut between his hands and wiggled his brows. “You know I don’t give up control.”

“No, but you certainly have tonight.” She watched him, one eye on his feral wolfish gaze and the other on the tie in his hands. This was part of the game. He played with the tie, tugging it and sliding it between his fingers, almost dancing with it. She licked her dry lips. “One of the girls teach you that?”

“Hmm, Robb did.”

“Oh he did?”

“He learned it from Jeyne.”

“Naturally.” Her voice tightened, a high-pitched whine when he draped the silk over her breasts, her nipples tightening. “Oh gods Jon.” She quivered, her hips thrusting up as he dangled the tie over her belly, her muscles quivering, and her thighs gripping around the edge of the chair to keep from sliding off the edge. She reached for him, but the tie came out, slapping her hands from him. Her mouth dropped open, surprised. But she trusted him. 

He stood in front of her and with one hand holding the tie, his other came to the edge of the briefs. His gray eyes were black with want. Dany knew what he wanted, just like she did. She pulled at the briefs, sending them falling to the floor and he tugged her up, spinning her around so he could sit back in the chair and bring her over him. She moved the lace at her crotch aside, her body wet and ready for him. 

And then the tie came out, quick like a whip, and he snagged her wrists, tying them together. “You arsehole,” she mumbled, her mouth over his. She wanted to kiss him, to fuck him. 

His chest rumbled. “I told you I’m not giving up my control.”

“Well neither am I.” She moved fast, her wrists tied now, and dropped her bound arms over his head, pinning him against her. She was the one in control too, sliding against him, her heat engulfing him in one quick move. They finally kissed, messy and needy. She wanted to laugh, the silly pasties on his chest tickling hers as they moved together, but all she could do was moan with want, panting his name. 

They collapsed in a heap on the cold stage floor, her wrists still bound, and the pasties still stuck to his chest. She blinked away sweat from her eyes and stared up at the ceiling, the lights glowing down on them, and wondered what exactly had just happened. She turned to face him, smiling at his dopey look. “You definitely distracted me,” she said. 

“Glad to hear it.” He reached backwards and untied her wrists. She slid her freed hands over his chest, ripping at the pasties. He winced. “Fuck!” 

“That’s what you get you arsehole.”

“Hmm, I love you.”

She grinned, kissing him. “I love you too.” Her hand dropped to the cheek of his perfect arse, striking it hard, the muscle tightening with the slap and his breath drawing in tight, instantly aroused. “Come on, let’s go home.” She got up and swept her clothes off the stage, walking towards her office to freshen up. “Oh and Jon?”

“Hmm?”

“Bring the tie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Drabble: We wrap it up with this set of prompts (until another comes along) with a dive into the as yet unseen universe of my upcoming fic **silent shadows** where Jon fears losing one of the most important things to him, but Dany is there to make it okay again. 
> 
> More info on that universe when you click on through!


	5. need you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon is desperate when he realizes he could lose the most important thing to him, but then the other most important thing comes along to save him too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ THIS NOTE BEFORE YOU READ THIS DRABBLE!!!!
> 
> This is set in my as-yet-unpublished universe **silent shadows**. In this world Jon is deaf. YES YOU READ THAT RIGHT. Dany is the veterinarian who arrives in Winterfell. Jon has a wolf sanctuary and he likes the wolves more than he likes anyone else. It will be an angsty fic but I hope also fun too. In that fic, Ghost is his wolf, like usual, but also his hearing dog. 
> 
> I have asked someone who I know is deaf about whether it would be offensive or not, as it was something I'd thought about writing, and they assured me it wouldn't be so long as I was aware of a few things and they let me know. You'll see Jon's story in that upcoming fic, but the prompt for some reason just WORKED for this one. 
> 
> And like all my stories (save one I have published, which was bittersweet) this one has a happy ending.
> 
> So for this one, the prompt is "Hey, I'm here now."

The world was closing in on him.

It was a constant sensation in his life, one he had grown used to since he was six-years old. Since that terrible day when he'd been playing with Robb, like nothing was wrong, and then he woke up in a hospital, with tubes and wires, his head exploding in pain, and... _silence._ Just nothing, nothing but vibrations when it was loud enough, nothing but humming when the frequency was just right.

He spent twenty years in his world, a world he'd created for himself, and part of that world entailed Ghost. Ghost was his counterpart, his equal, his shadow, and his heart and his soul. His entire world was courtesy of Ghost. Ghost let him know when someone was there, he saved him from stepping off the sidewalk without hearing the car coming around the corner...he was his ears, his eyes, and his entire life. Without Ghost he didn't know where he'd be.

Arya tried to get him to calm down, but it was no use. He dug his fingers into his scalp, tearing at his curls, yanking them free from the messy bun on the back of his head, and whimpered, like how he imagined his wolf felt. No, not _imagine_ , he _knew_. His cousin held his wrists, her lips moving, gray eyes just like his wide and focused on him, and his brain processed what she was saying, but he didn't _hear_ it. They were just words.

She let go of his hands, signing furiously, like he didn't know what she was already saying. It didn't _matter_. "Where is she!?" he shouted, knowing in his heightened state what he said was probably unintelligible. He caught sight of the huge Suburban rolling up and raced towards it, panicked, not even waiting for the tires to squeal to a stop before he threw open the door and grabbed her hand, yanking her out of the cab.

Silver hair flew around her face, her cheeks flushed, and she was dressed haphazardly. Arya had called her about thirty minutes ago. It took almost that long just to get from the front gate to the location in the depths of the sanctuary. He'd be impressed with her speed, if it weren't such dire circumstances. She was speaking to Arya, running with him, her bag slamming against her hip. He felt the pounding of his heart in his ears, the rush of his blood. Each foot on the ground anchored him to the present, the vibrations moving from his soles into his actual soul.

They broke through the trees, to the clearing, where his heart lay on the ground, white fur damp and stained red. They always said that his eyes were _bloody_ , but no one really knew, he supposed, what the real color of blood happened to be. It was crimson, so dark it was almost black, pumping from the gashes and wounds in his side. Ghost's eyes were red like rubies, like the glow of a sunset, not the hideous hue of the liquid leaving his body as fast as his body could generate it.

His beautiful red eyes were closed, breathing labored, fighting with all the strength left in hi.m Jon didn't know what he would do if he lost him. He knelt to his companion's side, looking over at Daenerys as she began to work, pulling on gloves and instantly triaging. A finger darted out, guiding his chin up and he stared at her, watching her lips form the words clearly while her hand moved in unison.

"Hey, I'm here now."

He nodded quickly, knowing that if anything would save his wolf, it would be her. He didn't sign his response; he didn't need to, just mouthed the words, not a whisper from him. "Thank you."

In their language, the strange mix of sign, lip-reading, and gentle touches they'd perfected over the months together, he helped her stabilize him, get him onto the stretcher Arya and Gendry brought out, and into the back of the Suburban. He felt the vibrations from the siren in his head, wondering if it was even legal for her to have one when she wasn't a police officer, but he didn't care. He'd deal with it if they were stopped. it was Winterfell, everyone knew everyone. They understood what this meant.

At the hospital he fell back, while she and her assistants ran in to work on him. Arya came up to him, tried to get him to come wash his hands, change out of his bloody shirt, but he didn't move. He replayed it all in his head, how they had even gotten to this point. The tracks in the snow, the worry he felt as one of his beloved wolves had already been injured-- Lady was a gentle creature, she was too used to humans and other creatures, no doubt she thought the animal was friendly.

A fully grown male grizzly bear early awakening from hibernation, hungry and still exhausted, confused, a single wolf would not be able to survive against it, but Lady had gotten away with a gash on her muzzle, her beautiful white and gray fur marred forever with the scars she would have. He went out with Ghost, to track the animal, to try to find it and figure its location, intent on calling the game wardens and having them come to relocate the animal somewhere else. Not in his sanctuary, for instance.

And Ghost saved him.

"She's a good doctor, Jon. He'll be fine."

He signed the words, too tired to speak them. "He saved me."

Arya clutched him, her tears wet on his cheek. She tapped the words into his hand, signing them even when he wasn't looking, but he knew. "He did what he was meant to do."

Ghost saved him from a bear, but he saved him from despair and loneliness, and he gave him a voice when he had none to give.

He did what he could, pushing it from his mind, and hours passed. Hours where he wondered if his heart would stop beating, if his breath would just suddenly cease, and he would die with his wolf. _What am I going to do?_ he wondered.

"Jon."

The light touch on his shoulder jerked his head up, seeing her sign his name, her lips forming the words, and he knew. He lunged for her, tears hot on his cheeks, wracking sobs escaping his body, shaking him to his core. She clutched him, burying her face into his neck, kissing the pulse there. He pushed by her and ran into the room, and almost collapsed atop the white form lying on the bed, stark white bandages around his body, a tube helping him breathe, but the line on the computer monitor beside him beeping.

Jon might not have been able to hear it, but he knew what those lines meant, and he verified them with his ear pressed to Ghost's chest, the steady thud lulling him into a trance.

_Thud-thum. Thud-thum. Thud-thum._

He turned his face from his wolf's soft fur, kissing at his muzzle and crying, Dany behind him holding his shoulders steady as his body, exhausted and overwhelmed, just gave out, relieved. He didn't know how long he knelt there, or when someone moved him, but soon he was in his house with Dany, both of them frantic, adrenaline and need raging through them.

They tore at each other's clothes, falling into each other, consumed with desperation to just feel _alive._ He knew the psychology of it, the reasons why when faced with death and chaos and possible loss, the human mind and body finally synced up with the single focus of wanting to fuck, to take and give to another person's body and mind, to remind itself there is still life, there is still feeling and love and passion, even when faced with ones own mortality. We aren't dead yet, was all it repeated.

He collapsed beside her, his face buried in her chest, inhaling the slightly floral scent from her shampoo, the lavender of her body lotion, and the sweat and lingering antiseptic and coppery blood from the surgery room. His fingers sought hers, clenching, embracing over her heart.

Jon might not be able to hear her voice-- one of the only things in his life he truly missed, truly wished he could go back in time and tell the little boy not to climb that tree, not to go dancing along the edge of the castle wall, and not to slip and fall trying to beat Robb in a race. He could not hear her voice, but he could feel it, in the beating of her heart, in the steady thrum of her pulse, and the way her lips moved at his ear, the breath tickling. Her fingers sought out his, clenched tight, and she moved her hand in front of them, heads resting together on the same pillow.

"I'm here now."

He smiled, a rare sight only she got to see. He touched her lips, as she formed the words again, reassuring him, and he understood. He mouthed the words back: "I know." He then slipped his hand between them, covering her heart, and moved his fingers into the sign, the one she knew, that everyone in the world seemed to know, but for him was the hardest one of all. The only one he never used, in some ways never felt he would ever have need to use, but when Daenerys came into his life, it was the only one he felt he truly understood.

_I love you._


	6. summer party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon introduces Dany to the family in the most passive aggressive way possible which delights Dany.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More drabbles! This is for AenarSnow who requested prompt **angst- “Do you even still love me?”** but I couldn’t do angst so here is the infamous gala hinted at in the third chapter of **summer lovin’**.
> 
> It is unkind to Starks, 😂

Tonight was the night, many women would be nervous, some perhaps trying not to be, at the idea of meeting their boyfriend's families. Especially a boyfriend who also was the father of your baby. A surprise baby. A baby you didn't even know you wanted until the stick turned pink and you were breaking the news to the guy you really didn't think you'd ever see again, until shock, he just randomly appeared back in your life as randomly as he'd entered it.

Dany was excited though. Deviously so. She exited the limo easily, maneuvering her six-months pregnant belly with relative ease, her red gown floating around her legs, before it tightened up at her bump and clung to the rest of her like a second skin. She was a walking flame; the only one wearing red amongst a sea of boring black, gray, and navy. "You Northerners need to find a color wheel," she commented, walking by yet another woman in black heavy fur-like clothing. She wrinkled her nose. "Looks like you wear rugs as fashion."

"We are a boring folk, I do agree."

They walked up the stairs of the keep; the gala was being held in White Habror, at the Manderly estate, and she was not impressed. "You also need another interior designer," she scowled.

Jon sighed. "Yes, it's quite hideous. Ah look, Starks." He wrinkled his nose, distasteful at the sight of his family standing in such a way that everyone had to go up and bow and owe them fealty. Metaphorically speaking, she thought, although-- Gods! He must have seen her expression. "Yes, people do occasionally kneel to them."

"I hope you know I will do no such thing."

"Would never have expected you to my love" He let go of her arm and reached to wrap it possessively around her upper body, his thumb brushing the side of her breast. Her skin tingled, a purr emitting involuntarily. They were getting stares. Maybe it was the red dress. Or her silver hair. Or her pregnancy. Or maybe it was because Jon was now pressing little kisses underneath her ear. Since it looked like these women also asked their husband's permission to speak, she suspected many northerners were not comfortable with public displays of affection.

So she turned and grabbed his chin, planting a hard kiss to his mouth. He growled appreciatively. She beamed, purple eyes sparkling. "Introduce me to your family Jon. I am eager to meet them as your girlfriend."

He lowered his lips to hers, brushing lightly. "Of course, love."

They were quite a pair, she imagined. Jon was a curious entity to the Northern peerage, he informed her, and as such at this gala, he would likely get quite a few stares. She was fine with that; so long as they didn't stare too long or try to take him away from her. Jon Snow belonged to her and he knew it. She placed a hand to the sid eof her bump, feeling the baby kicking. The little girl-- she knew the gender, Jon didn't-- was quite active. "They're staring," she purred.

Yes, all eyes on them. Jon, resplendent in his black suit and silk shirt, his dark curls gleaming, and his careless attitude dripping off him, while she was his opposite. Where he was dark, she was light. Gleaming silver hair, fiery dress, and her six-inch platforms, shimmery red. The gorgeous ruby earrings Jon gifted her winnked at her ears. He said many fancied them; they belonged to his mother and had been quite the showpiece of her jewelsry collection, which occasionally he put on display in the museum for special events.

It was her belly that drew the most attention, she suspected, although who knew with these racist xenophobes. He glanced towards the Starks. In the forefront, holding court, were two redheaded women, who would have been pretty if it were not for the pinched sour expressions in their faces, their hair pulled too severely from their angular faces, and the sharp almost armor-like dresses they were. His smile curled into a smirk. "Mmm, my cousin Sansa and my aunt Catelyn." He paused. The smirk faded and he glanced down at her, face puckering in a frown. "Are you sure you want to do this? We can turn around and go home. Order in. Watch a movie."

Her mouth fell, she gaped at him, mock hurt filling her words. "Jon, do you even still love me?"

"I love you more than anything in this entire world."

"Then you should know better than to try to take away this fun from me."

He grinned. "Well alright then. Let's go meet my family." He patted her belly, leaning down to it. Cameras falshed; no doubt hteir prsence had been officially noticed by the press pool. "And you too my little dragonwolf."

They sauntered in, people gaping at them, and Dany winked and waved at a few she noticed from Dracarys Group's work. She already knew Robb and Arya, who were stifling laughs over by the bar, joined with a man she knew was Theon Greyjoy, an heir to a shipping conglomrate out of the Iron Islands. Robb lifted his ale mug up, silently saluting them, perhaps even wishing good will. He thought they might need it, adorable, she thought, winking in their direction.

As they approached, she could see the pinched expressions tighten, the narrowing blue eyes on both women’s faces. “Here we go,” Jon said under his breath. He reached them, his uncle standing with his back to them, speaking with a massive man wearing a kilt and sporran, she recognized to be Wyman Manderly their host for the evening. He kept his arm around her hip, maying his fingers grazing a little farther south. “Aunt Catelyn,” he said, his voice cool. “Sansa, you both look lovely this evening.”

 _Like a couple of gargoyles_. Dany smiled politely, grateful her makeup that evening was applied with a far lighter hand, her purple eyes standing out, her silver braids intricate and a dragon clip attached to them. She reached a finger to gently fondle one of Lady Lyanna’s earrings, drawing their attention to them. It worked; Sansa’s mouth dropped, before she een said a word to Jon. “Sansa,” she greeted, offering her hand, to be polite, while also showing off the ring she wore that matched the one Rhaegar and Viserys famously wore; one of three their mother got them before her death, when lined up they formed the famous three-headed Targaryen dragon sigil. It was their version of a crown; everyone knew what it was. “Wonderful to finally meet you in person, you’re as lovely as your brother said, just the North.” She blinked, peering at Jon, who was looking at her curiously. 

“Oh well,” Sansa said, ruffling her feathers slightly. Quite literally, she had black feathers on the shoulders of her dress. She smirked, an ugly look on someone who was really very pretty. “That’s nice of him.”

Dany glanced at her red nails, before she set them on her belly, drawing their attention back to it. “I do find the North quite harsh though. Cold and severe you know. Then again, I’m a Targaryen.” She grinned. “Daenerys Targaryen, if you didn’t remember. It’s been awhile, we don’t usually do business with the Starks. My brother finds the North to be a bit too narrowminded for our more…” She licked her lips, brows lifting. “Liberal and open policies. More welcoming, I think.”

She could feel the heat starting to emanate from Jon. Not out of anger, but passion. He was _loving_ it, she could tell. He smiled, gray eyes twinkling. “Daenerys is here as my date this evening.” 

Catelyn cleared her throat loudly. “Well, it is…” She choked on the word. “Nice to meet you too Daenerys.”

“Nice of your husband to allow you to come as a date with someone else. Ididn’t know you married, but Targaryens do marry multiple people, right?” Sansa shot at her.

Dany grinned; here it was. “No I’m afraid we don’t actually, but we do all have criss-crossing family trees do we not? Starks are no exception. Actually…”

“Actually,” Jon interrupted, his hand going to her belly. She dropped hers over it, grinning at him. He turned, love shining out of his eyes, his face soft and gentle. His voice dropped, husky. “Dany and I are together; we’re having a baby.” 

The sound Catelyn made was so loud and foul, it forced Ned Stark to turn around to look at them, concerned. He smiled; a rather handsome man, he always had a tired and put-upon look at him. Through problems of his own making, Jon always told her, and never actual ones. “Jon! You decided to come!” He turned to her, polite. “And you brought a…” his voice trailed, gray eyes dropping to her belly and Jo’ns hand there. His face went stony. Cool. “Jon?”

Jon tugged her against his chest. “Dany and I are having a baby. We met in the Summer Isles.” He dropped a kiss to her lips, a squeak coming from Sansa. “We’re going to get a drink, find Robb and Arya.” He laughed softly. “And maybe think of baby names. Something Valyrian, right Dany?” He pushed by, ignoring Ned’s protests that they needed to speak. “Later Uncle, you’re being rude to Dany. She needs to get off her feet.”

There was nothing wrong with her feet, she just struggled to walk because she was trying not to laugh so hard; or pee, but that was because the baby was on her bladder. She waited until they were out of earshot before bursting into giggles, spinning to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him full on the mouth. “Oh you do love me! You love me so much! Their faces!”

Jon squeezed her to him, murmuring against her lips. “They’re foul. Their policies are archaic. I told you I don’t get along with them for a reason.” He reached to touch the earrings dangling from her lobes. “And Sansa always fancied these.”

She giggled again, knowing they were getting looks. “Come on Jon Snow. You owe me a drink for this.”

“And then we can go home?” he asked hopefully. 

“And then we can go anywhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are curious, I pictured the earrings kind of like the famous Queen Victoria ruby earrings. 
> 
> http://queensjewelvault.blogspot.com/2012/06/queen-victorias-crown-ruby-earrings-and.html?m=1
> 
> Let’s say Lyanna had a jewelry collection that rivals the British Royal family’s 😂 And Jon got it all and bestows it all on Dany.


	7. unexpected visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cul de sac gets an unexpected and unwelcome visitor that Olenna puts in her place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is in answer to prompts **22\. Good thing I didn’t ask for your opinion** and **26\. The diamond in your engagement ring is fake** set with our favorite neighbors— you know who they are 😂 
> 
> Also this is unkind to Ygritte, as a warning 🙊

Olenna was watering her beautiful lilies in the front yard when the woman showed up.

It was a little silver car that looked like a toy; pulled right into the driveway next door, marched up to the front door, banged on it shouting: "Crow! Open up!" Then when no one answered-- because apparently 'Crow' no longer lived there as it had been vacant for two years-- the woman marched towards her car. The yard looked pristine, she couldn't fault the woman for thinking someone was still there. Olenna refused to let the house look unkempt just because Jon Snow had trouble selling it.

She kept watering, gazing over curiously. It was the redhead. The one who used to be with her neighbor before he wisely upgraded to a newer, improved model. The woman didn't look at her, but called across the street at Davos, who had just pulled into his drive, and was removing grocery bags. "Hey! Sailor guy!"

Olenna snorted. "You know dear, if you had manners, you might get what you asked for." She finished with the hose and dropped it, walking casually to the property line, the woman peering shrewdly towards her. She smiled politely, while Davos watched uncertainty from the drive. "Olenna Tyrell, my dear, what can I do for you?"

The redhead scowled. "I'm looking for Snow."

"So go up north they have a lot there."

She scowled. "Jon Snow. I'm Ygritte Wilde, his girlfriend."

"Well his wife will be curious to know that." Olenna cocked her head, scanning the woman up and down. She looked like a little boy. She waved her finger at the strange overall combo she wore with dirty shoes and her scraggly red hair in a fraying braid. "What is this you're wearing?"

The woman drew back, surprised. Her mouth fell slightly. "Clothes, why?"

"With your body shape you might want to not wear something that appears as though you're wearing a garbage sack" The woman gaped. Olenna clarified, in case she was stupid. "You look like a little boy. Acting like one too, mouth like that.:

Davos had appeared at her side. "Olenna!" he exclaimed.

"What?"

The woman frowned, pointing. "You're the old bat that lives next door."

"Yes you're quite sharp, sharp as my dull rose clippers."

Davos stepped between them, damn him. "Davos Seaworth. You're Ms. Wilde, yes?"

"Ygritte!"

They all looked over at the other house, Jon coming out, holding his daughter on his hp. Ygritte's lip curled, annoyed. He stomped over, irritated. "I told you to come to my house."

"So I did," she replied, sweetly. Too sweet, for Olenna's tastes. She knew a manipulator when she saw one. Ygritte narrowed her eyes on the baby. "Oh, your daughter."

"Come here lass," Davos said, taking the squirming toddler from Jon. The baby was rather cute, Olenna had to admit. He glared at her. "Olenna, why don't you come help me get my groceries out of the car?"

"Get them yourself, you're capable." She turned to Ygritte. She smiled again. "How can I help you?"

Jon tried to step between them, but she blocked him. "Olenna, thanks I got it."

Ygritte flashed her left hand, which had a large diamond on it. Olenna narrowed her eyes on it. She didn't like this at all. "Crow, I'm very busy, I have things to do. I've got your stuff, tell Tormund not to use me like a delivery service." She flicked at her chipped nails. "I've got a wedding to plan you know."

"Yeah I heard, congratulations."

"The diamond in your engagement ring is fake."

They all thought she wasn't there again. They stared, horrified. Olenna blinked. "What? It is. I can tell a mile away. You're not fooling anyone darling, you think you can make Jon Snow jealous? Do you know how long it took me and this one here--" She jerked her thumb to Davos, who looked ready to die. "-- to get this idiot--" a jerk towards Snow, who was burying his fac ein his hands. "--to realize that he was bloody in love with the blonde over there?" A jerk now to Daenerys, who had come out to see the commotion. She arched her brows, smirking. "You have nothing on me dear. Now, whatever it is you need, finish it and leave."

Little Aly cooed. She chuckled, taking her from Davos, who was stunned. "Come here darling, come to Auntie Olenna. Let's get you some lemon cakes." She glanced at them all; Dany had rushed over now. She frowned. "What are you all staring at? Get to it."

Davos followed after her, while the couple next door spoke with the redhead, who still looked horrified. "You are so rude. And mean. That was uncalled for."

"So is her presence. I hate people who can't scheme properly." Olenna sat Aly down on a chair at the table and began to prepare her a plate of lemon cakes. She narrowed her eyes on the redhead. "Didn't like her when she was here, don't like her now."

"You think she has a shot to try to get him back?" Davos snorted. "Think again. I thought you were smart."

"Oh I am. I appreciate her effort." She pondered it for a moment and smiled, leaving Aly and going back down the path to where they all were. She waved again. Ygritte looked wary; Jon and Dany looked annoyed. "Jon, dear, didn't you say you were still having trouble selling your place?"

He scowled. "Yes Olenna. And you know why."

They all claimed she drove off the potential buyers. Lies, absolute lies. The Baratheons, the Martells, that Baelish character, and the strange redhead who she thought was a witch, they all didn't buy it for their own reasons. Not because of anything she did. preposterous. She patted his arm. "Dear boy, that's sweet you think a little old lady like myself would be involved in such nefarious things." She studied Ygritte. With some work, she might do alright. She reached for her. "Come dear, let me show you the house. Tell me about yourself."

"Um, Crow?"

Jon and Dany were horrified. "Olenna no," Dany whispered.

"Oh don't you two worry. Go make me another sweet baby like that one up there. I've got this." She patted Ygritte's arm, the woman bewildered. They walked over to the house, Ygritte saying she didn't need to see it, she already knew what it looked like. Olenna had no interest in actually trying to get her to buy the damn place. She just saw a potential problem and was dealing with it. Once they were in the yard, away from everyone else, she turned, polite as ever. "Now, let's cut the shit. You've got good form, but you need work. Fake engagement to make him jealous? Please. Trying to get him to be interested by weaseling your way in with some long forgotten item of his you need to drop off? Ha! Amateaur work." She kept her voice soft, gentle, and watched the light go out of Ygritte's eyes, realizing she'd been had. "Now, those two are happy, in love, and I spent countless hours getting them together and all I want is another damn baby to spoil. So, you will turn around and drive away, and if you even think of trying to do a damn thing to those two I will find you and ruin you and you'll really need to get those rabbit teeth of yours fixed."

Ygritte gaped. "I don't think you have any call to try to tell me what to do."

"Hmm, that's adorable. Good thing I didn't ask for your opinion." She beamed. "Come on then. Have a cup of tea before you depart."


	8. summer kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For @youwerenevermine on Tumblr for the prompt **Exhausted Parents kiss** and she wanted it FLUFFY!
> 
> So here you go, we are back to the boating sexy beans in the Summer Isles in **summer lovin’** universe . 🥰🏝⛵️

The boat rocked gently from side to side, waves lapping against the hull. It was a natural sleeping aid, like being back in mother's arms, soothing your soul. Ordinarily Jon would be fast asleep by now as lying in Daenerys's arms in the big bed they had in their cabin with the cool breeze filtering in through the open portholes would have sent him straight off the cliff to dreamworld. It was his favorite place to be. 

To his newborn son, on the other hand, it was not the same as being in his mother's arms. He did not like the boat _at all_ , had been a right terror most of the day, his screaming and protesting so loud they could probably hear him all the way in Westeros. Jon knew they shouldn't have left the villa. It had been his wife's idea to take their yacht out cruising on a multi-day trip from Tall Trees Town around through the Summer Isles, over to Naath, and then venture towards the ruins of Old Valyria before skirting to the Orange Coast and stop in Volantis.

And as they were currently too far from the port in Naath but also not close enough to Volantis, they were spending the evening anchored in the Summer Sea, which was the plan, except Jon had hoped they would be a little less preoccupied with crying, protesting babies and more preoccupied with exploring the various parts of each other they quite enjoyed. Not that he didn't already know every inch of his beautiful wife; he just really enjoyed remapping every curve and bump of her, including the new bits she'd developed after birthing his two children.

He never considered himself possessive; until she came along. So maybe that was why he was experiencing slight jealousy at his son who was currently getting more of Daenerys's body than Jon was getting at the moment. He closed his eyes tight, as Rhae let loose another scream, which prompted Jae to throw a pillow in frustration. "I hate him!' she cried.

"You don't hate him," he mumbled, an arm draped over his eyes while Jae peered over his chest from where she'd been curled into his side, glaring angrily at her baby brother. He tried to brush her curls from her sticky, warm face, but she fussed, not wanting to be touched. The poor baby had gotten sunburned, which he blamed himself for, and hated that he hadn't noticed she'd been kicking around in her float-- attached with a rope to the back of the boat-- without her hat for a good while. 

He hated feeling like a failed parent. It happened a lot. He moved to the side of the bed, picking up Jae, who started sniffling and crying. "Ouchie," she sobbed, touching her hands to her reddened cheeks. 

"Don't touch it baby."

"Mummmm," she sobbed, trying to get to her mother, who was busy trying to get Rhae to nurse, to at least occupy his mouth with something other than screaming.

Dany was exhausted; she wore a bikini top in lieu of her nursing bra, claiming it far easier to remove for feeding their voracious son. She had on a pair of his boxers and her silver curls were unwashed and salty from the sea, piled on top of her head. Bags under her eyes rivaled his. She never admitted defeat, never gave up, and he loved that about her, but damn if this wasn't her idea and now they were stuck on the boat with their demon seed.

He loved their demon seed, would kill and die and destroy any and all who dared to threaten them, but _seven hells_ they were something else. Jae thrived on the water, he credited her conception with that. Rhae, not so much. He hoisted her up to his hip, taking her out of the cabin to the galley, and took out another 'Boo Boo Pack' from the freezer, lightly touching it to her warm skin. 

She pressed it to her face, sniffling. "Daddy," she mumbled.

"I know baby girl, I'm here." He was so tired; he grabbed the aloe from the fridge, but missed and ended up with a bottle of rum. _Honestly I could do with that too._ He took her up to the deck, with his rum and her aloe, and settled into the leather seating looking out towards the rear of the boat, the moon, stars, runner lights and the glow from inside the yacht serving as the only light source; it was a clear night and they could see everything. He took a swig of rum for courage and then began to swipe aloe on Jae's cheeks; she was not pleased.

Eventually she wore herself out, hugging his chest, her aloed face stuck to his bare chest and her hand over his heart. He wrapped her light blankie around her, hugging her tighter, resting his face on her soft dark curls. _Gods I love you so much_ , he thought sleepily. He hummed to himself, grateful for the current that had them shifting in the water. It was enough to make him fall asleep too.

He woke with a start; maybe a second later. Maybe an hour. He realized he was no longer alone on the couch. Jae was fast asleep on him and beside him Dany leaned to his side, their son nestled between her breasts, his shock of silver hair sticking up straight and mouth moving in his sleep, no doubt imagining he was still nursing. He was a fat, greedy little baby, who Jon loved more than anything. Except when he had plans for Dany that had now been derailed completely.

Dany blinked up at him, smiling, a little dazed. "Hey."

"Hey." 

They stifled their laughter. He sighed. "Remember when you flashed me to get my attention? I'm so tired I probably wouldn't respond."

"I'd flash you now but I've got a little dragon latched on."

He glanced down, rolling his eyes; Rhae had shoved his face into her bikini top, hunting around. He patted his son's bottom, chuckling. She laughed softly. "Just like his Daddy."

"Daddy's too tired to care."

"How is her burn?"

"It'll be fine. She's never taking that hat off again."

She snorted. "Good luck with that."

Her head rested on his shoulder, both of them reclining back, the rocking doing its job. They drifted off, their babies cuddled into him. Quite a difference from how it began, he thought idly, when it was just them goofing around, carefree, thinking they'd never see each other again. 

The next morning their sea dragon was roaring for the water; Jon jumped into the sea with Jae and when she moved to take off her hat, he slapped it back onto her head. He was tired, but not that tired to forget. He pulled her to him, zooming around backwards with her in her float, laughing and spinning in place. Dany joined, Rhae in his baby float, his nose wrinkled, annoyed but at least not crying. He leaned over top of the floats and their babies to take Dany's mouth with his, gently kissing her, exhausted. "I love you," he sighed.

She sighed back, purple eyes soft. "I love you too." 

"Let's never leave here."

"That's the best idea I think you've had in a long time Jon Snow." She swam into his arms, both of them nudging the floats around as they lazily kicked about the sea, their happy place.


	9. seconds last forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s Jon and Dany’s anniversary— but which one? It doesn’t really matter when you’ve been together forever. Literally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This prompt is for @moondancer71 on tumblr, using AenarSnow’s prompt list. The prompt is **Sometimes, forever is only a second** and this is set in the **we shall be monsters cut off from the world** universe.
> 
> This is some Vampire Dany and her Vampire-Wolf Hybrid Jon fluff!

Daenerys opened her wardrobe doors—they were simply a decorate façade which opened into her walk-in closet, almost the size of a small apartment—studying the racks and shelves of expensive designer garments freshly bought from the boutiques in Kings Landing, or the ancient, historical dresses any museum curator would gladly offer their lives for in exchange. 

She chose one of her older ones. It was a bit warm of late, not that she really felt such trivial matters like _temperature_ , and put on the Mereenese garment of silver and icy blues, a bra with crisscrossing straps over her taut belly, to tie at a pleated skirt which fell to her feet. She raked her fingers through her silver curls, leaving them to tumble over her exposed back, and with bare feet, she padded from the closet and down through her manse, out onto the back terrace, where she encountered a massive white wolf, hindquarters right in her face, a leg stuck straight up in the air while he licked his balls. 

“You’re foul and you’re washing your mouth out before you even _think_ of kissing me.”

The wolf lifted its head, made a snarl that might be considered a smile, and hopped to its feet. Stretching out, front legs and back, tail flicking, he nipped playfully at her feet and trotted into the manse. She rolled her eyes and went to the outdoor bar, preparing herself a drink, and removed a bag of the synthetic blood that had been such a source of trouble for her—and him—dumping it into a glass with a bit of gin. She idly swirled it around, preparing her drink, and heard shuffling behind her after she’d taken her first few sips. 

He stood there, barechested, in only a pair of loose slung jeans, a toothbrush in his mouth. “Best part of being a wolf,” he teased.

Her wnose wrinkled. “Worst part of being bonded to one, I say.”

He stuck his toothpaste covered tongue out at her and went back into the house. When he returned, he had put on a black silk shirt but left it unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. Music began to slowly drift through the hidden speakers and she set her glass down, reaching for him, her lips finding his. She sighed against them; mint toothpaste, ale, and the faintest taste of copper. Her tongue darted, to lick at the canines he allowed to extend, his gray eyes twinkling. 

In response, hers let go from her jaw, sharpening to points, and she leaned in, inhaled the scent of him, and licked at his exposed neck, before sinking in, and allowing the gush of his blood to fill her. He moaned, his fingers digging into her exposed hips, and he murmured approval of her dress. “I haven’t seen this in centuries.”

“I thought it might be nice,” she replied, unlatching from him. She felt full and tingly, every sense heightened after a fresh feed. They began to sway, slipping into a rhythm, dancing lazily on the terrace overlooking the Blackwater Bay. Her heart was dead, unbeating, but she could hear his, courtesy of his wolf side, hammering away under her ear. She closed her eyes, and he slid his fingers through hers, squeezing her hand and bringing it over his heart. She sighed. “So what number is this, you think?”

“I honestly do not know.”

“I cannot believe it has been as long as it has sometimes.”

He kissed her, long and slow, and she hummed happily. “Sometimes forever is only a second,” he said. He smiled, face crinkling, and bright. “With you.”

Such pretty words, from such a pretty mouth, she thought, smiling rather dumbly. “Couple thousand years, give for take.”

“Forever.”

Yes, she thought, as he danced her around on the terrace. It was their anniversary, the day she first met him, when he requested her assistance in defeating an undead army, and she’d first noticed the scent that wafted from him, the difference in his demeanor, in how his nose curled at the presence of blood, but his heart beat too. And then he came to her in his wolf form and he drank from her, and she knew she would never be without him again. 

Even if sometimes he did annoy her to death. _Literally._ She wouldn’t bring up the destroyed Lyseni silk sheets from when he’d come barging in after wrestling with a deer, muddy and bloody. Or the white fur that _refused_ to come off her treasured Ibben embroidered bench. She giggled when he spun her out to the side and circled around to him. “Happy anniversary love,” he whispered. 

She smiled, when he pierced her wrist with his fangs, and nodded. “Yes, happy anniversary.” Whichever one it was. Thousandth, two thousandth, who really knew anymore. It was just a moment to them. The moonlight off the Blackwater glowed, as it had for centuries, and she suspected, it would for another few centuries more. She’d know of course. Because she’d see them. 

With him


	10. glitter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon comes home to a glittery surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Emilia Clarke for the edible glitter spray baking post on Instagram today! It inspired this drabble set in the **frosting and icing** universe. Enjoy!

The squeals greeting Jon when he opened the door forced him to stay in place, an array of options available to him. He glanced at the door handle, his hand still resting on it. He could back out the way he came, get into his car, and go the pub. Or he could go back to work—unlikely. He could pretend he didn’t hear a thing and go into the garage and do some of the carpentry on the new bookcase he _promised_ about six months ago he’d finish. Or he could go in and pretend he heard nothing, go straight to his room or something. 

Or he could investigate. 

Squealing grew louder, followed by cackling uncontrollable laughter. He smiled, licking his lips and wondered what prompted whatever was so funny in the kitchen. It grew louder, a variety of laughs. A high, long one. A series of snorts and giggles and shrieks. A long bubble laugh, deep from the belly. 

He stepped into the house, saying nothing, and closed the door. A few steps in and a white blur ran at him. He leaned down, ruffling Ghost’s ears and neck. “What’re you doing, huh? What’s all the racket?” He looked at his hand and his wolf’s nose, red eyes blinking, and tail wagging so hard the wolf’s entire backside shook. He frowned. “Is that… _glitter_?”

Ghost squeaked in response, turning and running back to the kitchen. He tried to wipe the glitter off, but all it did was smear on his black pants. He was no stranger to the substance; he had two daughters after all. He went down the corridor and turned, breaking into his massive kitchen, which had undergone a variety of refurbishments over the past few years, since an award-winning pastry chef decided to marry him and make him hers. He dropped his messenger bag on a chair near the small table near the side door he’d come in, and took in the sight before him. 

The formerly block square kitchen island had been extended into a U-shaped, with a sink, multiple prep areas, and a massive iron rack with various pots, pants, utensils, and occasional strings of garlic, tomatoes, dried herbs, and flowers. The walls of the formerly bare kitchen now were filled with cheerily painted cabinets, a double hung oven, a stove with about twelve different burners _and_ two other ovens, and open shelves stacked with more utensils, cooking and baking equipment, ingredients, recipe books, and photos. 

It was a mess; he never had a clue what he’d come home to discover, a five-course meal or takeout or a three-tier wedding cake with electricity running through it. He stared at the chaos unleashed right now in what used to be a very chrome and boring kitchen, now painted teal and yellow and happy greens, pinks, and oranges. His entire house was like a giant smile, when it used to be a frown. 

He beamed at the reason for that, standing beside his daughter, who was sitting on the edge of the counter, leaning over a wire rack brimming with cupcakes. At the plastic play table beside the island, his other daughter banged her wooden spoon on a stretch of cookie dough, and she was… _sparkling._

It was glitter.

And it was on everything.

“Daddy!”

Aly jumped off the counter, running over and flinging her arms around him. “Da!” the baby shouted, struggling to get off the attached bench to her table. 

“Whoa, what’re you guys doing?” He swung Lyanna up into his arms, patting her chunky little thigh and kissing her rosy cheek. He tasted chocolate, icing, and smacked his lips, reaching to touch at her nose. “Is that glitter?”

“We’re making cupcakes!”

“I see.” He grinned at his wife, who had come over, an oversized apron wrapped around her swollen belly and her pink sweater rolled to her elbows. “Good evening to you, seems like you had a fun afternoon with them.” 

Dany grinned, kissing him lightly, and leaned back, hands on her small belly, which he leaned to kiss. “We are having a blast. I got a batch of this edible glitter in at the bakery and thought it would be really fun. We’re making cupcakes. Chocolate with pink frosting and…”

“Glitter!” Aly shouted, flinging her hands into the air again. She grabbed hold of a bottle that looked like hair spray, holding it out to him and grinning. “It sprays!” She picked up a cookie, spraying it and then showed him, before biting into it. 

He laughed. “I see. Lots of glitter.” He glanced at Ghost, who was licking his nose, glitter coming off to his tongue. He leaned in to whisper. “Why is it on everything?” 

Dany giggled, taking a bottle and spraying it on her fingertip, tapping it to his nose. He wrinkled it, trying to see the sparkle. “Because it’s glitter Jon, duh. We’re making everything glitter. Even Ghost’s food. The cupcakes, cookies, everything.”

“And mac and cheese too!”

“Yeah!” Lyanna shouted, trying to kiss him again. It was all over the toddler’s face. She wiped the glitter off his nose and licked her fingers, giggling. “Potty.”

He dropped Lyanna almost immediately, holding her hand as she rushed him to the bathroom. He turned to look at Dany, eyes wide. “How?” They had been trying to potty-train her for _weeks._

Dany wiggled the glitter spray. “Glitter, of course.”

“I don’t want to know.”

“You really don’t.” She went back into the kitchen, calling for Aly to go wash her hands and at least try to get some of the glitter off her while she cleaned up. He finished with Lyanna, who rushed back to her table, to continue playing with her cookie dough. He glanced down at her, smiling wide. He loved them so much. Dany picked up one of the cupcakes, all of them in pink glittery paper cups, topped with marshmallows. She dropped her arm over his shoulder, leaning against him, her belly trapped between them. “For you.”

“Maybe later. After dinner.”

She shook her head, grinning. Her voice dropped, quiet. “This is a special cupcake.”

He frowned, unsure what that meant. They all looked the same to him. “Alright,” he said, knowing not to argue with his wife. He pulled at the paper and frowned, wondering why she was staring at him so intently. He bit into it, realizing that there was some sort of filling. Normally he didn’t like fillings in his cupcakes or cakes, which she knew. He frowned, pulling back, lifting his fingers to wipe at some that got on his nose and upper lip, when he realized that the frosting inside of it was… _blue._

He swallowed hard. “Blue?” he whispered, turning immediately to Dany. His eyes widened, realizing what it meant. She was grinning, her cheeks sparkling not just from the glitter that coated everything but also tears. She nodded hard, laughing when he dropped the cupcake onto the counter and flung his arms around her, lifting her clear into the air, spinning her. “Oh my gods, a boy!”

“I found out this morning, I thought this would be fun,” she laughed, raining kisses over him. 

They embraced again, Lyanna finally bored of her cookie dough, and shoving herself in between their legs, babbling nonstop. He wiped at his face, smearing glitter, and looked over at Aly who had come back in, skipping happily, red braids bouncing on her shoulders. “Hey Aly, want a cupcake?” he asked, picking up another that Dany had nodded to, still grinning. “It’s special.”

“They’re all special, because they have glitter and they’re pink.” Aly grabbed the cupcake from him, licking her lips, grinning. “Dany said that you’re gonna’ find out if I get a brother or another sister. I want a sister. So everything can be pink.”

They both shot a look at each other and then to the still half-eaten cupcake with blue frosting that Aly hadn’t noticed. Yet. “Um, well…” he began. 

Dany grinned, reaching for the glitter spray. “Here, let’s put some more on, glitter makes everything better.”

Jon took a deep breath, wondering if that went as well with an Aly who wasn’t happy about getting a brother. They’d soon find out, he supposed, holding his breath as she bit into the cupcake.


	11. tiny dancer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany gets a look at a "tiny dancer" when Lyanna arrives with an unearthed Jon Snow video.
> 
> Set in the **"it is what it is"** universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back to ballerina!Dany and barista!Jon. Enjoy :D

* * *

Dany grunted, separating back the heel of her ballet shoe from the fabric, reaching down with her knife and gouging out the shank of the shoe, releasing a triumphant cry when she yanked it out, holding it into the air like a prize. She dropped it to the floor with the rest of the detritus that accumulated when she prepped her shoes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her boyfriend frowning at her, over top of his book, his glasses glinting in the light coming off the fireplace in front of them both. “What?” she asked, chuckling, not stopping her destruction of the shoes.

“Aren’t those things rather expensive?”

“About 200 dragons a pair, yes.”

“And you just…destroy them?”

She folded the shoe backwards and forwards, easily moldable now that the shank was out. Once she had it the way she wanted, she picked up her darning needle and threaded it, beginning to work on the ribbons. She shrugged. “It’s a disposable product at the end of the day, these need to fit me perfectly.” She wiggled her toes out, so he could see the broken nails, bruises, and calluses that covered her small, yet strong, feet. It used to upset her, how she couldn’t wear sandals or get cute pedicures the way all her friends could, but she was proud of her feet. They showed how good at her profession she was, how athletic and strong. They were what kept her going. “Because they protect these, ultimately.”

“I guess I won’t understand.” He set his book aside, crawling onto the floor to sit with her. One of her cats, Drogon, was fussing with an end of her ribbons, batting it back and forth in his paws. Ghost eyed them all and she kept watch on him out of the corner of her other eye, lest he run off with one of her shoes again. He’d taken a liking to them.

Although she’d discovered one day that his chewing on one of the shoes had actually softened the toe box a little. It wasn’t a habit she wanted him to get into though. “You didn’t see your mom doing this?”

Jon laughed. “Yeah, I did, sometimes helped her. She would give me the shoes and have me bang them on the floor with her.”

“That’s actually genius.” Little boys were all about that loud noise and screaming. Lyanna getting a small tiny Jon to beat the shit out of her pointe shoes was actually a nice sight. She pursed her lips up, smacking a kiss to his cheek. “Baby Jon.”

His palm came over, pressing to the very tiny bump on her waist, his face soft and goofy. “Baby Dany.”

Her hand covered his, squeezing lightly. “Baby You and Me,” she said, accepting his kiss. He patted her belly gently and moved, getting to his feet. She glanced down at her bump, which had not deterred her from dancing; if anything she wanted to keep it up, to stay in shape throughout the pregnancy. It had been quite a shock, discovering that after only a year they were expecting, but it was only a matter of time.

The bell at the front of the house, a small cottage they’d located on the outskirts of Winterfell, rang—more like gonged—Ghost released his high-pitched whine, closest thing he could do as a mute. He jumped up and bounded after Jon to the door, while she remained on the floor, stretching out her legs to either side into a semi-splits and forward bend, figuring maybe she’d prep for a workout later and get some stretching in.

At the front door there was a happy laugh, the sound of bags rustling, and a moment later Jon entered, smiling wide. “Mom came to visit.”

“I actually come bearing gifts.” Lyanna, who wasn’t quite as petite as her, nimbly stepped around the various objects on the floor, and held aloft two gift bags. She glanced at the shoes piled up that Dany had been working on, and chuckled. “Oh, I remember those days. Shoe prep. You know I used to get Jon to…”

“He told me,” she laughed, coming up and reaching for Lyanna. It was still amazing to her that this woman would be her mother-in-law one day, when she idolized her as a small girl. She poked at one of the bags, nudging into the tissue paper. “You didn’t need to bring anything.”

Lyanna patted her belly, which Dany pushed out a bit obnoxiously, since at five months she wasn’t quite as big as she’d expected to be. Doctor said it was because she was an athlete, she might not pop until the end. “I did so have to bring something for my future grandchild. Also…” A devilish look crossed her face, her gray eyes twinkling. “I found something while cleaning out the house.”

Whatever it was, Jon was wary, his matching gray eyes narrowing. “Oh?”

“Hmm. Be a dear and get me some tea.”

“You don’t need tea, what is it?”

“Jon, get your mother some tea,” Dany chastised. He huffed, storming out of the room, throwing a censuring look over his shoulder. She stuck her tongue out at him. Once he was out of earshot, she whipped around to Lyanna. “Oh gods, what is it? What did you find?”

Lyanna grinned, hand diving into the other bag. She removed a DVD case, smirking. “Had to get this transferred from the recorded copy but it is so worth it.”

One of the things that Dany had wanted desperately to see when she’d begun dating Jon and after learning that his mother had forced him into ballet shoes when he was little, were ballet photos of him. Except, to Lyanna’s enduring disappointment in her son, when he was a teenager, Jon had gone through the house and purged it of any photo of him in ballet clothes, lest his friends or Robb might locate them and humiliate him. Lyanna was still pissed off at him for it.

“Didn’t leave me with one photo!” she raged, when Dany had asked her about it at their first dinner together. Jon hadn’t cared and calmly continued eating, saying it was for the best.

Lyanna hurried to the TV and plugged in what she needed. A moment later, the screen flickered, and Dany was greeted with the greatest thing she had ever seen in her entire life. Except maybe the sonogram of her child. This was an exceptionally close second.

The footage was homemade, from someone’s old-fashioned camcorder, and from the front row of what she recognized was the main auditorium at the ballet academy. The curtain pulled open, the audience applauded, and then a line of little girls in pale pink leotards, tights, and tutus walked onto the stage, eagerly waving at their parents. They couldn’t be more than five. And then….the greatest thing ever….Dany yelped, covering her mouth with her hands, tears springing to the corners of her eyes.

In both adoration, love, and because she thought she might start laughing nonstop.

A little Jon Snow, dark curls tangled on his head, in white shirt and gray leotard tights, bringing up the rear of the line. He looked down at the camera and to her amusement, he scowled. Then he reluctantly lifted up his little hand and waved, before focusing his attention on the instructor, who Dany couldn’t see. He snapped to attention immediately and began to follow the program, little feet moving as they ran across the stage, prancing and doing plies and jumping here and there.

“Oh my gods,” she breathed, a hand on her belly and the over stilly over her mouth, watching the tiny Jon on the stage. She kept repeating it, while Lyanna giggled nonstop beside her.

“He’s so adorable! Oh, I forgot how tiny his frown was. Such a grumpy little boy I had.”

_”What the bloody seven hells are you watching?!”_

Lyanna paused the video, turning to glare at her son. “Your dance recital when you were five. It’s all I have of my only child doing ballet. Give your mother this much, you burned all the other pictures.”

Jon was flushed so red, Dany worried he’d stopped breathing. He closed his eyes. “Where did you find that?”

“The studio actually. I’m sure there’s more I can locate soon enough.” She picked up the other bag, handing it to Dany, beaming. “And here’s your other gift.”

Dany giggled, almost jumping in place, so full of love and giddiness. She grabbed something soft from inside the bag and tugged it out, bursting into tears. “Fucking hormones,” she complained, wiping her eyes and holding up the little cotton onesie. She sniffed. “Oh Lyanna! It’s so sweet!”

Lyanna wiped at her own tears, hugging her tightly. “Well you’re having a little dancer.”

“A tiny dancer,” Jon read from the onesie, as Dany held it up, placing it over her belly. He chuckled. “Thanks Mom.” He pointed to the television, his image mid-leap in gray tights, intense focus on his small features frozen on the screen. “But not for that.”

“Oh hush and give your mother a kiss. I need to get back to the school.”

Dany couldn’t stop, wiping at her tears and saying thank you to Lyanna, for so many things. The onesie, the video, for producing Jon, even. They managed to get her out of the house, even with the tea Jon had made for her and put into a travel mug, like he knew she wouldn’t be long. He probably was hoping she wouldn’t stay long. He hugged her, wiping at her eyes. “Don’t cry,” he chuckled. “It’s just a silly little gift.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s everything. I just love you so much.”

He softened, touching his forehead to hers. “I love you too.”

A few days later, at the studio, Dany finished with her workout and went over to the stereo to turn off her music, when the door opened. She glanced over to tell whomever it was she was almost done, when she saw Jon slip in. “Jon!” she exclaimed. He held two cups of coffee in his hand. She grinned, flicking off the music and rushed to him, shoes clomping on the hardwood. “You brought me tea!”

“Herbal, no caffeine.”

She flicked down the coffee collar, his writing scribbled out. _Baby might need this more than you._ She patted her belly, kissing him. “Yes, baby did need it. Thank you.”

“I have something else.” He shifted, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out an envelope, passing it over to her. “My mom isn’t always right. Contrary to her belief.”

Dany took the envelope, curious. She set the tea on the top of the piano and flicked open the envelope, pulling out a few old photos, the glossy images spilling forth into her hands. She stared, mouth falling open, at the treasures she now held. “You didn’t destroy them!”

They were of little Jon, just like the video from the recital, only in these ones he was in a studio, very small and holding his mother’s hand, while she wore her ballet leotard and skirt, his little chubby feet and legs in tights. Another holding onto the barre. She beamed, flicking through them. They were bloody adorable. She looked up, pressing them to her heart. He smiled, sheepish. “I guess I subconsciously held onto those because I was going to fall in love with a dancer.”

She giggled. “Maybe you did.” She looked down at them again, shaking her head, still smiling. “They’re perfect. Thank you.” The photos returned to the envelope, she put them carefully into her bag, and bounced back up. “Come on, dance with me.”

Jon smirked. “I don’t dance.”

“You’re having a baby with a dancer. Guess what Jon? You dance.” She giggled. “I’ll show you my baby pictures of me in a tutu. I think my mother ingrained me young, just like yours.”

“Funny how that works,” he laughed. He spun her around, tugging her up to his chest, and kissed her softly. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” She took her coffee and together they clinked the lids together, before he spun her back around, dancing lazily around the studio, both of them laughing goofily.


	12. riding the waves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany enjoys a lovely morning on the waves with a bit of friendly competition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a standalone drabble, set in a universe that does not exist either in an upcoming WIP or other current one. I just wanted to make a surfer Jonerys moodboard and now here's a drabble to go with it. Enjoy!
> 
> (Also, can we just appreciate the idea of Ghost riding a surfboard? That has to be cute as fuck.)

* * *

The alarm was set to go off in the next fifteen minutes, but she beat it every single morning, body trained since she was twelve to be up before the sun.

Hopping out of the tangled sheets, the windows and doors of the bungalow perpetually thrown open, she took in the morning breeze, salty and full of promise for the new day. She grinned, hearing the cresting of the waves, the battering of them against the beach just beyond the scrub grass and the sandy stretch beyond the open doors. Loose gauzy netting hung from the open doors and she pushed it back, to step onto the porch, and inhale those first few crisp breaths. She exhaled, eyes closed, and did a few sun salutations, opening her lungs and body to the day.

 _Kirimvose_ , she silently thanked Caraxes, Meraxes, and Gaelithox. God of the sea, Goddess of the sky, and God of fire, moon, stars, sun and the dawn, respectively. She bounced back up to her feet, hurrying into the bungalow. All of three rooms, it suited their purposes nicely; they were only ever in there long enough to sleep and half the time they slept out on the porch, beneath the stars anyway. Any other length of time spent inside was solely when it stormed or rained. Sometimes rarely then.

She pulled off the t-shirt she’d been sleeping in, tossing it into a pile on the floor with others. The house was a pigsty; she’d been meaning to clean but hadn’t gotten around to it. Too much to do on the outside. She tugged open the drawer of the single chest in their room and plucked out a pair of red bikini bottoms and one of her favorite rash guards, a black and red with her three-headed dragon symbol emblazoned on the back.

Once changed, she ran out, pausing long enough in the third room of their house to select the board she’d use that morning. Out of the corner of her eye, her feisty half-feral cat Drogon hissed at her, as she’d apparently chosen a board, he’d been planning on sleeping on. “Hush,” she chided him, ruffling his head on her way out. “Go find someone else to annoy.” He hopped off a board that was stretched over the table and went off to do just that.

She drove in her battered Jeep with the board sticking out the back with a few others to the beach nearest their house, choosing this one this morning because judging from the breeze, the waves, they would be hitting nicely off the reef and give her some good rides that morning. She grabbed the board and ran off, that first plunge into the sea waking her up, stinging her eyes and bringing her to her happy place.

In the ocean, a bit far from the shore, she sat on her board, lazily bobbing and glanced at the rising sun. She thanked the gods and goddesses again and then flattened herself, glancing over her shoulder when she saw the beginnings of a good wave. _Here we go_ , she thought, excited for the first of the day. She began to paddle and then rose up on it, springing nimbly up onto the board, her core tight, body hunched, as it lifted her clear above the reef, the water, and almost into the sky itself.

It crested, several feet, and she rode it sideways, heart pumping against her ribs, laughing as she reached the end and rode the board lazily towards the beach. “Perfect!” she shouted, to no one. She rolled off into the water, grinning, and grabbed her board, paddling back out again.

An hour or so later, as she crashed off during a particularly nasty wave, she caught sight of another rider, annoyed. _My beach_ , she scowled. Even though the beaches belonged to everyone. She tossed her wet braids over her shoulder, swimming back out, and waited, when she saw the blinding white board, with its red fins in the back. She smiled as he swam towards her. “ _Sȳz tubis issa jorrāelagon._ ” she greeted.

“Morning,” he replied. He sat up on his board. In the glow from the rising sun, he seemed to shine, somehow his skin retaining a paleness to it despite living full time in the heat and sun of the south. He’d pulled his dark curls into a bun at the nape of his neck, some tendrils free and stuck around his temples, sea water glistening on his dark beard. He glanced over his shoulder at the oncoming waves, smirking. “Race you?”

She scowled. “You’re on.”

They grabbed a couple of waves together; she was pleased that she beat him more than he did her. Even if she did wipe out on the last one, taking it too fast. She walked up onto the beach, board under her arm, as he came in after her. “Where’s Ghost?” she asked.

“Where else?’

They looked to the water and saw the white wolf-dog bobbing around, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, as he body-surfed in. She grinned. “Ghost the amazing surfing wolf!” she shouted, as he ran up onto the beach with them, dancing in the sand.

“I should get a few more pictures of him for that magazine.”

Ghost the Amazing Surfing Wolf, viral sensation for his videos and shots on a surfboard, who helped keep them in rent and surfboards. She grinned, leaning towards him. “The invitational is next week; I’m going to kick your arse.”

He nipped her lower lip. “No way.” He was considerably less competitive than her overall, very chill, but when it came to the both of them competing against each other, it could get downright vicious. He sighed hard. “Davos wants me to do the Ice Wave Challenge again.”

“You win that every year, it’s not so much a challenge.”

“No.” Very few people even bothered to try to surf the terrifying waves up off the coast of the North in the Shivering Sea. Mostly because it was so cold everyone ended up in the hospital with hypothermia, except him. He’d started trying to do it without a wetsuit, just to see if he could. He still won.

They looked around as more people started to pop up on the beach. A group of teenagers jumped out of a fancy Jeep with brand new surfboards and tags still on their wetsuits. One of them caught sight of her and shouted. “Are you Daenerys Targaryen?”

“No,” she lied.

“Yeah right! I know your silver hair! Ya’ know, you should have lost that last one, they only gave you high marks cause’ you’re a chick!” The kid had a punk face, sneering. He snorted. “I bet I can beat you.”

“What’s your name?”

“Joffrey!”

She glanced sideways at her boyfriend, who was hiding a smile behind his hand. “Alright Joffrey. Let’s go then.”

Several minutes later, Joffrey was eating sand and probably calling his mother to cry about how she destroyed him, and she was arm and arm with her better half, walking up to their respective cars. Ghost bounced along behind them, chasing lizards into the grass. “That was fun,” she announced.

A few other people saw them in the parking lot, locals and the like. Someone called out asking if they were Daenerys and Jon Snow. “Shouldn’t you be Jon Sand, living in Dorne?” someone asked him.

He chuckled. “Nope. Doesn’t work like that.”

They signed a couple autographs and then hopped in their Jeeps, heading back to the bungalow. She grabbed her board and began to work on it, waxing and checking the edges, while he whistled along and fed the animals. It was a good day, she figured, when she finished, and changed out of her suit into a pair of jean shorts and one of her favorite bikini tops, going to join him on the porch. He had his laptop open, was looking at video of the last invitational. She studied the video he was watching and pointed. “You came up too early there, lost speed.”

He rolled his eyes. “Thank you, you’re not my coach.”

“No, just better than you.”

“I mean, no comment,” he teased. She nudged the laptop away and sank into his lap, smacking a kiss on his lips. He sighed, cuddling her, and both looked out at the Sunset Sea stretching out before them. He idly brushed her drying silver curls over her shoulder. “You know you could always try the Ice Wave Challenge. Might give me some competition.”

“You know you don’t care about that.”

He grinned. “Nope.” He surfed because it was peaceful to him, as it was for her. Except she also did it because she liked to win. He sighed, glancing at Drogon taunting a poor lizard before he ate it. “We should get Drogon on a board.”

Ghost perked up at that, red eyes blinking curiously. Drogon hissed, grabbed the lizard, and pranced off, poker brush tail in the air. Dany laughed. “I don’t think so.”

“Hmm, worth a shot.”

After an hour or so of relaxing together, Dany got up, patting his knee. “Come on. The waves don’t wait for anyone.” She pulled off her shorts and jumped off the porch, deciding to hang around the house for a bit before they went to one of the bigger beaches, with an audience, and actually _practiced_.

Eventually, she ended up letting her board coast to the beach, his floating nearby, as they tangled up with each other in the water, letting it wash over them, and she kissed him like she had that first day she met him when she was thirteen years old on a family vacation, and both of them arguing over who could surf better. The kid from the North who had more sunscreen on him than was left in the bottle or the girl from Valyria who was born on the water.

Years later, they agreed it was a draw.


	13. fire on ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon has to deal with a real live person at his funeral home— which he hates because he’s better with the dead. But Dany can handle both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted this a few weeks ago on tumblr and figured I would add it here. It’s just a random drabble off a post that had “worst fic prompts” and one was “funeral home meet cute.”
> 
> CHALLENGE ACCEPTED.
> 
> Also I was a very strange child that used to tell other kids I lived in a funeral home. I was plotting out the show Six Feet Under decades before it aired I guess.

* * *

  
“Thank you so much Mr. Snow.”

Jon nodded politely, solemnly, his gray eyes the perfect amount of sympathetic, sad, and he hoped the right amount of ‘normal’— lest people think him a total fucking creep—while he shook the hand of the Greatjon Umber, whose son Smalljon Umber had unfortunately encountered the wrong side of a chainsaw while out trimming trees.

Greatjon began to go into a tale about his son—who by all accounts had been a horrible person—speaking like he was the second coming of Aegon the Conqueror for all his ‘talents’ and ‘successes.’ “Hmm,” he murmured, walking him slowly to the door. “He sounds like quite a man your son, thank you Mr. Umber, we will speak later regarding tomorrow.”

“Of course, thank you again Mr. Snow.”

The door shut loudly behind him, Jon slumping against it, relieved. He glanced at his cousin, who had emerged from the basement, shaking her chopped bob out of its messy little knot atop her head. “He gone?” she demanded.

“Aye.”

“I had half a mind to sew his arm on backwards.”

Jon closed the doors to the viewing room where Smalljon rested in repose until tomorrow when he’d be taken to the Karstark’s castle for the final funeral and ultimate burial in the crypts, as was custom for the Northerners. He clicked his tongue. “Arya, be nice.”

“Remember when his wife died, and he squeezed my arse?”

“Aye, I remember.”

“Thought so.” Arya checked her phone. “Your beloved texted me. We have another on the way. This one fell from the Wall. Ygritte said he’s a fucking mess.”

He made a face; he hated that she referred to his ex-girlfriend as his ‘beloved.’ “Will you stop calling her that?”

“She works for the morgue Jon, what were you thinking?”

“It’s hard to find women in this line of work.” He heard the bell ringing on the other side of the old stone house that served as their place of business and home—the five-floor monstrosity he knew people in town referred to as ‘Castle Black.’ He did wear a lot of black. Came with the territory. He waved off Arya. “Just make sure you finish up with Mr. Lannister before the end of the evening.”

“The rich dude who died on the shitter? Yeah, no thanks, that’s all yours.”

“Do you want to take this one? Where the fuck is Robb anyway?” Robb was the master of this shit, not him. He was better with the dead.

Arya walked away before he even could try to play ‘Dragon, Wolf, Lion’ with her or answer as to where her eldest brother happened to have gone off. Guess it was all him. He caught his reflection in one of the mirrors in the hallway, adjusting his black tie at his neck and raking fingers through his curls. It did nothing to tamp them down. He schooled his expression, solemn, and pushed through the dark wooden doors from the funeral home side of the floor to the entry way. He let them swing back and folded his hands in front of him.

“Welcome to Three Wolves Funeral Home, may I help you?” he asked, voice gentle; you never knew who might be waiting to speak with you on this side of the building. He’d been accused too often in Robb’s post-services discussions of being too cold.

The woman standing in a dark red dress with long black overcoat was not someone who appeared to be in mourning, but then you never really knew, some people were good at masking emotions. Her silver hair was in an elegant, braided knot at the back of her head and she had large black sunglasses folded in her hands, gazing at the table with various brochures for caskets.

She turned, blinking wide violet eyes at him, her lips crimson, face pale. “Good afternoon,” she greeted him, eyebrow arching. “I’m inquiring as to your crematory services.”

“For yourself?” he blurted, before he realized how it sounded.

She smirked, while he flushed, thrown off by her stunning beauty. He tried to school his expression again; she could very well have been there for her husband, boyfriend, or other, he did not need to stumbling through this. He wished Robb was there. “That would be interesting, wouldn’t it? Well, I can assure you I’m not here to burn myself alive, but you know…” She inspected her hand, a couple rings on them glittering gold. She grinned up at him. “I have heard stories my ancestors were immune to flame.”

His throat constricted. “Apologies. Can I help you?”

“Your crematory services?” she wondered again, walking by him and into the showroom, running a finger over an ebony casket.

“Ah…I am afraid Three Wolves does not offer such services. We can, however, assist with selecting one, urns, and preparing a memorial service.” He wondered what she was doing; she was now leaning down to look underneath a massive white casket. No one really cared what the underside looked like. He gestured towards the office. “We can speak in private, if you wish?”

The woman shook her head. “No I’m fine, thank you. Just doing a little bit of research.”

“For a relative?”

“Something like that.” She wore very high heels, which clicked loudly on the hardwood. She glanced sideways; eyes shrewd. “Are you one of the Three Wolves on your sign out front?”

“Yes, Jon Snow, I’m the mortician.” It sounded so creepy like that, but it was the truth. Robb handled the hand shaking, the business side. Arya was their resident makeup artist—she could do wonders with faces practically taking them on and off—but he was the one who handled everything else.

“Hmm, yes I heard of you.” The woman offered her hand. “Dany.”

“Jon,” he repeated, like an idiot. He was put off by her beauty, rather disarming. He swallowed hard again. “Nice to meet you. Is there…”

“This was enlightening Mr. Snow. I’ll be back.” Dany wiggled her fingers, waving, striding out decisively. “See you later.”

 _What the seven hells was that about?_ He spun on his heel, about to ask her what else he could help her with, when the front door slammed shut, bell ringing on her exit. He heard the door from the services wing open, Robb walking in. He scowled. “Where were you?”

“Talking with the Umbers, heard it went well, did we have a customer?” Robb adjusted his tie, eagerly seeing dollar signs. “Where are they?”

“They left.”

“Damnit Jon!”

He rolled his eyes, storming by. “I’ll be downstairs.”

“With Tywin Lannister? Better make him look good, the Lannisters are paying through the nose for this.”

“Aye,” he said idly, heading downstairs and to his ‘lair’ as Robb referred to it. He shook his head, preparing in the locker room, putting on scrubs and his protective gear. When he tugged on gloves, walking over to the block of freezer drawers, he rolled his eyes again, making another face. He was better with dead people anyway.

* * *

A couple of weeks later, Jon saw the beautiful silver-haired woman again, this time from the front step of the funeral home, while Arya sat on the railing, Robb in shocked horror as the sign went up across the street.

_Dracarys Funeral Home and Crematory Services_

“How did this happen? We had the run of things here!” Robb exclaimed.

Arya cracked her gum. “Want me to get info?”

The silver haired Dany waved from the front step of her home. “Hello Starks!”

Jon shook his head, appalled. “I thought she was just asking because someone died…like they all do.”

“You didn’t think that she was scoping the competition?” Robb shouted.

“I told you I’m better with the dead than I am the living!”

“Oh leave him alone,” Arya chided. She rubbed Ghost’s ears—his great white wolf—gazing across the street again, shrugging. “Maybe we can make this work. Jon, you were the one who met her, maybe you can get some more info. They do crematory, we don’t. Maybe we can make a deal or something.”

Robb nodded, poking his shoulder. “Go over there, find out more.”

Jon sighed. He really didn’t want to do this. “I have that Wall guy to deal with.”

“Jarl will keep, go find out more.”

He slid away from the column, clicking his tongue for Ghost to follow him, the two of them crossing the street and up to Dracarys. He entered into the front room, seeing that everything was a shade of black and red. He glanced at Ghost, who was scanning the space with his bright ruby eyes, white fluffy tail wagging slowly. “What do you think?” he mumbled.

The walnut wood stairs creaked in the back, drawing him towards the door leading away from the showroom and sitting area. He peeked into another part of the old house, just like how their business was set up, with a viewing room and seating area. He moved to another door, which was open, leading down a set of stairs.

A massive black cat yowled from a sunbeam near the door, hissing at Ghost and running off. Ghost didn’t bark but took off after the cat. He sighed, calling out. “Please don’t kill her cat!”

He went down the stairs and pushed open a set of swinging double doors, pausing at the sight. It was state-of-the art and he scowled at some of the fancy equipment he’d been trying to convince Robb to upgrade to for the last year. He ran his tongue over his teeth, arching a dark brow at the woman who had been wearing head-to-toe designer when he’d met her and now was in black scrubs and protective gear, leaning over a dead man, a kit of makeup and brushes next to her.

“Jon Snow,” she called.

“Daenerys Targaryen.” He used her full name. The proprietress of the competition, he would not refer to her as Dany. “You could have told me you were moving in across the street.”

“And you would have shown me around? I think not.”

He stepped closer, curious at what she was working on. His eyebrows flew to his forehead. “Greyscale, huh?”

“Hmm,” Dany murmured. “Yes.” She looked up, grinning. “I saw you coming over, decided not to stop you from finding me. You’re not squeamish.”

“No I’m not.”

“They call you the King of the Dead.”

It wasn’t the worst thing he’d been called. “And you are?” he retorted.

“The Dragon Queen, I suppose you could call me. Or at least, that’s what they called me at mortician school.” She selected another brush, grinning. “I’m offering a service that your busines does not Jon Snow, that’s all.”

“The North doesn’t burn their dead.”

“I know, but many in the South do. There’s plenty of them moving up here.” Dany stood and pushed the gurney with the greyscale man into the freezer, closing the door. She removed her gloves and gear, walking by him, and began to wash up. She tossed a serene smile over her shoulder. “I think we can make this work Jon Snow. Don’t worry about it.”

“Robb isn’t used to competition.”

“And you?”

He shrugged. “I work better with the dead.”

“So do I.” When she finished, she studied him for a few seconds, which unnerved him. He tore his eyes from her, wondering what she was doing. She approached him, hands on her hips. “Would you like to get a cup of coffee?”

He frowned, nose wrinkling, surprised. “Coffee?”

“A hot beverage, sometimes served with milk and sugar? Other times with various accoutrements like cinnamon or chocolate?” Dany’s smile softened. He saw then how gentle she actually was, how soft. It was comforting and he wasn’t even grieving. _She must be very good at her job_ , he thought. He was numb, unsure how best to reply. She patted his arm, stepping by him. “Come on, I’ve got a lovely blend from Braavos.”

In the kitchen on the third floor of her house, where he assumed, she lived, she prepared the coffee. He wondered where Ghost had gone. “This how you get all the competition?” he managed to get out. “Ply them with coffee?”

“Just you.” Dany sat down across from him at a small bistro table in a large bay window, with a beautiful view of the mountains in the distance. She passed him the mug of coffee and used a small ceramic pitcher to pour milk into her coffee. Lifting it to her lips, she smiled again, warm and eyes dancing. “You intrigue me.”

He sipped his coffee—it was very good—a small smile on his lips. “You are an interesting one, Dany…if that is your real name.”

“Only my friends can call me Dany,” she mouthed.

“And we’re friends?”

“Well I hope we’re not enemies.”

Jon figured he’d have to wait it out and see for certain, but he didn’t think enemies was the best word for it. He was not good at this sort of thing, so he chose to continue drinking his coffee. He set the mug down on the table, sighing and cocking his head, a slight furrow to his brow. “I’m not good at this.”

“I know,” Dany shrugged. “But I am.”

Well that was that then, he figured, smiling at her.

* * *

“So where did you two meet?”

Jon wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that, as one of Sansa’s friends from King’s Landing had cornered him, trying to get info on Robb. “Where did I meet…?” he echoed, playing dumb.

Margaery Tyrell frowned. “Where did you meet Daenerys? Sansa didn’t tell me. In fact, she’s being really weird about things. Won’t even tell me what Robb does for a living.” Her eyes lit up. “I like a challenge.”

“Um, well…”

His wife of the last two hours emerged at his side, looping her arm through his. “We met at a funeral home,” she said, smiling at Margaery’s wide-eyed, horrified expression. Dany gazed up at him, love shining from her beatific face. “In fact, we contemplated holding the reception there, but figured everyone might think that a little weird.” She smiled even wider. “Also in the future, please keep the Fire on Ice Funereal Services in your thoughts for any funereal needs!”

Jon stifled a snort, glad to be rid of the odd questions. He smiled down at his beloved. “We didn’t actually consider the reception there or…did you?”

“No of course not, I don’t want to mix business and pleasure.”

“Isn’t that exactly what we did?”

“Nah, I came to scope out the competition and this really cute guy who couldn’t look me in the eye without blushing wandered in.” Dany rose on her toes, pecking his cheek. She patted her hand against his chest. She beamed again. “Best decision I ever made. I could have sent Viserys.”

At the mention of her annoying older brother, Jon shivered. He squeezed her close. “Very well then. Let’s at least try to figure out a better story, you’re scaring people.”

“Well it is the truth.”

Jon shook his head, but smiled anyway, his arm around her and hers around him, both of them walking off into the crowd of guests. He even thought that he overheard someone say the King of the Dead had found his queen. He kissed her temple, sighing. He certainly did.

  
THE END


End file.
